The Butterfly and the Hurricane
by domino1957
Summary: A What if... from Matt's Love Story. What if Lester Dean had never made it to Mike Yardner's ranch?


The Butterfly and the Hurricane

_Author's note: Thanks to the writers of "Matt's Love Story" for the two scenes I borrowed. If you're familiar with chaos theory, the title will make sense. I also made no real attempt to follow the chronology of the series – the pieces just worked._

The horse called Slick had been edgy ever since leaving that high windy pass they'd come through on the way to Starcourt's place. The meeting with Starcourt had left a wariness in Dean that also transmitted itself down to the horse. Now, as they made their way to the next valley, no amount of calming or nonsense songs seemed to work at reassuring the animal who spooked at the least little thing.

"I swear, Slick," said Dean in an exasperated voice as he grabbed leather to keep his seat for at least the tenth time in the last five miles. "You'd think you'd been raised your whole life in a barn." Slick, a normally steady, sensible creature, snorted, rolled his eyes in response to the criticism and gathered himself more out of embarrassment than anything else.

Horse and rider plodded steadily up a steep rise. Dean lost himself in thoughts of Starcourt, of the woman he was to kill, of the lawman he'd left for the buzzards back in that high pass. He patted his coat pocket to feel the silver dollars and after a moment's reflection, shrugged and decided the money made what he had been hired to do worthwhile. Of course, he'd have to kill that young gun of Starcourt's but there was time enough for that. A pup like him was too dangerous to let live when a fellow as shifty as Starcourt was still alive. He did not intend to spend the rest of his days looking over his shoulder. Of course, maybe Starcourt would need a little convincing as well, that business was business and once finished, their dealings would be through.

He was just working that part through in his head when a tumbleweed decided to attach itself to Slick's front legs. Panicked, the horse reared which only opened his hindquarters to attack. The sudden motion threw Dean back in the saddle. Wildly, he grabbed for the horn and missed. The shift in weight and the sudden jerk on the horse's head sent both of them over backwards tumbling down the hillside.

By the time Slick finished stomping on him and when his head stopped spinning long enough for him to take a personal inventory, Dean was in a bad way. Numb from the waist down, he felt no pain although he knew from the angle that one of his legs was badly broken. "Well, ol' Slick, " he gasped, "I think you've done me in…"

Slick stood, head down. He gave himself a great shake that dislodged a small tornado of dust. Cautiously, he picked his way over to the fallen man. "Good boy, Slick…" said Dean, faintly as the horse nudged his shoulder. "You'll rub the saddle off, I reckon…" Carefully, he unbuckled the bridle from the horse's head and removed it. "You'll eat better now." He could not reach his long rifle nor his canteen but his handgun was still in its place on his hip, held there by a loop over the hammer. Dean pulled it free and cocked it. "Git!" he shouted at the horse. Slick threw his head up and danced a few paces away. The man fired a shot in the air but the horse remained standing. "I'll be…made….of milk…" The second shot convinced Slick that it was time to go. He turned and trotted off away from the smell of blood and death.

She took one last look in the mirror and smoothed her hair and skirt one more time. Breathing deeply, she reached for the door and without another moment of hesitation, stepped into the next room. He sat oiling his gunbelt but her arrival interrupted his work. He stared and a flush came to her cheeks. "Haven't you ever see a woman in a dress before?" she demanded, damning the man and his blue eyes.

Thus cursed, those eyes took in the picture she made. Mike Yardner was handsome, not pretty, and the rose-colored skirt and creamy blouse brought out highlights in her auburn hair. He smiled. "Guess I just forgot how good it looks," he said.

She was furious that she was still blushing. "Well, don't get any ideas this is for you - " she snapped.

"-'Course not-," he said agreeably.

"-A woman has to have a change once in a while, that's all."

He bent back to his work before she could see in his eyes the emotions that threatened to betray him. She tossed her head and went to the stove where, without thinking, she reached out for the coffeepot. A cry of pain escaped her lips as the hot metal seared her fingers. In an instant, he was at her side.

"Let me see it," he said and he took her wounded hand in his. Her own brown, work-roughened hand disappeared into his. His touch was gentle and as suddenly as they were close, she broke away.

"It's nothin'," she insisted and drew away. He looked at her again with those eyes. "Why don't you just go sit down and finish whatever it was you were doin"!"

He gave a slight shrug. "Whatever you say." He resumed his seat and picked up the belt from where he had dropped it. Whatever it was, she'd get around to it, soon enough.

Mike watched him. She again reached for the coffeepot, rag in hand, and poured a cup. She carried it over and sat it next to the man, who thanked her without looking up. Then, she sat on the arm of the chair facing him.

"Where will you go?" she asked in a soft voice.

He continued to work, unwilling to reveal himself. "Oh…I don't know," his voice was easy. "Someplace…Find some work."

She studied his hands and marveled how such huge things could be so deft in their work. "Must be lonesome…"she mused. "Not knowing who you are, where you come from, who shot you…"

He raised his head and looked at her with pain. "Yeah," he nodded. "I've been thinking…"

They stared at one another for long minutes. She stood up suddenly and grabbed herself around the shoulders. "I am such a fool!" she declared. The anger was back in her voice.

He laughed softly. "Most of us are…You got particulars?" He waited as she paced away and then returned to the chair.

She resumed her seat. "I couldn't sleep last night." It was an announcement. There was something else but she had to say it in her own time, in her own way.

Again, he nodded. "I heard you tossin'."

Her eyes lit with fire. "Didja!" She challenged. "Would have occurred to some to come find out why?"

He continued to rub the leather belt. "It occurred to me."

"I'd have shot you deader than a banker's pulse." she said flatly.

He smiled, almost to himself. "I don't think so."

She stared at him. "Why not?" she demanded. He was so sure of himself!

"The gun," he said, indicating with a nod of his head, the rifle leaning against the cupboard . "It was right there."

She exhaled sharply. "Appears to me the idea did a lot more that just occur to you. You took it all the way 'round the mulberry bush." She watched as he laid the belt aside and wiped the oil from his hands. She was puzzled. "Well…if the gun was out here…" she said.

"Yeah."

"Well, what stopped you!" And in that instant, she mentally ran down all the faults in her personality and appearance.

His eyes were full of humor at her discomfort. "Maybe I'm a married man with a bunch of kids," he said.

"You're not." Her conviction surprised them both.

He blinked. "You sure?" Now she knew something he needed to know. The pain was back in his eyes.

"I'm sure." she said in a gentler voice.

"How?" he asked, a little sadly, she thought.

She blushed again under his gaze. "You got a disconcertin' way of lookin' at a woman." she said, feeling like a schoolgirl. "Like you were measurin' her."

"'S'that so?"

"Hm-huh." she said. "Married man with kids gets that beaten out of him sooner than later. You're a range bull, mister. There's no ring in your nose." She broke off and he finally looked away and into himself to see if she was right. It hurt, but he believed she was. The silence between them was almost palpable.

After a long moment, he looked back at her. "You - uh - said you couldn't sleep?" This might be a safer conversation.

"I was thinkin'," she said.

"That always keep you awake?" he asked. It had certainly bothered his sleep lately.

"Does when it concerns my way of life." She was deadly serious, now.

Here it is, he thought to himself. "Meanin' what?"

She bit her lip and plunged on. "You're almost well now…meanin' you've either got to go or make up your mind to stay."

"You mean I've go a choice?" he asked.

"Guess so." she admitted reluctantly. "That's what all that thinkin' was about…You don't know who you are or where you're from and maybe you never will. I don't think you're married so that solves one problem but - she paused and then continued. "-You sure are somethin'. You got a way about you that says whatever you did, you did with authority. I like that. I like you. I tried not to but -"

"Is that a proposal?" he broke in, his voice teasing.

Furious, she jumped to her feet. "You can go straight to hell-" She moved to storm from the room but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Mike," he said urgently and then he pulled her close. "I'd like to stay." Their eyes met and he bent his head to kiss her. "Good night, Mike." he said, huskily. "Sleep well."

She looked at him long and hard. "Oh…Hell!" she swore softly and disappeared into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

He watched her go and then turned to face the dying fire. He glanced back at the closed door, shoved his hands into his pockets and studied the fire, again. At last, he sat down and stretched his legs where he could engage in a serious contemplation of the tips of his boots. Then softly, he began to whistle.

Mike had just loosened her hair when she heard the tune of the old hurdy gurdy as the monkey chased the weasel. Indecision raged on her face, then taking a deep breath, she marched to the door and opened it. "It is truly difficult," she said in mock seriousness, "for a lady to get some sleep around here." The door closed behind them.

ONE WEEK LATER…

The familiar clomp and jingle - but any hope of good news was quickly extinguished by the look on the deputy's face and by the slump of his shoulders. Tiredly, he wiped his sleeve across his brow and took a seat at the table.

"Anything?" she asked hopefully.

"No ma'am." he replied. "Ol' Court says he ain't seen hide nor hair of 'im." A beer appeared before him.

She turned to the old man. "Doc, I'm worried about him. He's been gone over two weeks."

Adams swiped his mustache. "Now, Kitty-," he began in a voice more confident than he felt. "How many times have we sat at this very table and worried about Matt? Now you know as well as I do that he'll come ridin' in here before long. You can bet on it."

She was not reassured. "Well, I don't care what anyone says. If he's not back here before long, somebody's got to go lookin' for him."

The deputy drank the last of his beer. "An' that's just what I'm a-fixin' to do-" he stood and started towards the door but Adams stopped him.

"Now hold on just a minute." he said sharply. "Let's not go traipsin' around the country without knowin' what we're doin'…" He paused to think. Both looked at him expectantly.

"Tell you what you do, Festus," he began. "You go over to the telegraph station and tell Barney to wire every post north of here - that way we'll get a line on him -"

Gratified for direction, Festus nodded sharply. "-I'll do 'er, Doc-" and he was gone before Adams could finish.

"-It's the only sensible thing to do." Adams was talking to the air but he sat back, hiding his relief that no one questioned his plan.

The woman eyed him critically. She leaned a little closer. "You're not foolin' me one bit, Curly," she said in a low voice. "You're just as worried as I am."

Adams dropped his eyes and concentrated on his coffee.

TWO MONTHS LATER…

Deftly, he backed the team and wagon up next to the porch step. Driving a team was a task that had been awkward for him at first but practice paid off. He stepped down from the seat and grabbed an armload of parcels. As he wiped his feet, a small grin pulled at the corners of his mouth; smells of baking bread and pie turned it into a full smile.

"'Bout time you were back."

He dropped the parcels on the table and turned to face her. Mike looked hot from her work in the kitchen. She pushed a strand of hair back from her forehead and left a smear of flour.

"Good evening to you, too." he said. "I got everything on your list - "

"- and no doubt a few things that weren't." She began sorting through the packages. "I swear, what is it about you men? You can't just go and buy what's needed. You end up bringin' home the whole store." Puzzled, she held up a thick package. "What's this?"

"Open it and see."

She frowned but carefully removed the paper. It was a Sears and Roebuck mail order catalog. "A wish book!" she exclaimed with a laugh, clutching it to her chest.

"It was cheaper than the whole store."

She shot him a look. "Probably put all kinds of ideas into my head that we can't afford."

The 'we' was not lost on him, but he chose to change the subject. "Supper ready? I'm starved."

"Never saw you when you were anythin' but." She put the catalog in a safe place. "Clear the table. It's fresh bread and stew from yesterday. You'll eat better tomorrow now that the larder's stocked."

"I smell pie, too."

"Just sweet potato."

She filled plates and they ate their meal in comfortable silence. He declared the pie the best he had eaten and as if to prove it, had two pieces. She blushed and although secretly pleased, shook off the compliment. She accepted his offer to clear the table and do the dishes, after all, the wish book was waiting.

He left her to look while he took care of the team. Although he was glad she was pleased, the wish book hadn't been just for her. There were things in that catalog that the ranch needed; things that couldn't be gotten for a couple of hundred miles in any direction. A short list began to grow in his head as he walked back to the house. He sat for awhile on the porch before going in, thinking. Thinking how outright happy he felt and at how little the forgotten past bothered him. He felt as though he was reborn in the best way: with knowledge and experience remembered but with a clean slate and the possibility of a

new future. He wanted that new future here.

"You know, Mike - " he said as he opened the door but stopped short when he saw that she had fallen asleep in a chair with the catalog open in her lap. He closed the door softly so as not to waken her and crossed over to her chair. Gently, he moved the catalog to the table nearby. She stirred and blinked sleepily up at him as he smiled and gathered her in his arms. Far from objecting, Mike rested her head on his shoulder and allowed him to carry her to bed.

The next morning broke softly. Approaching clouds held more than a promise of rain for the dry country. She found him sitting on the porch enjoying hot coffee and the songs of birds. She took a seat at the end of the porch to allow him his space.

"Did you find anything interesting in that wish book last night, Mike?" he asked.

"Sure, but that's what it's for – wishin'," she replied.

"There was some other news…seems the circuit preacher is going to be headed out this way in a week."

She eyed him as though waiting for a joke. "Oh? Are you feelin' the need of a good readin' from the Good Book?"

He shook his head. "No ma'am." Her eyebrows arched as he intended them to. "A good woman." He rose and went to kneel at her side. "Mike Yardner, will you have me as your husband?"

She stared at him for a long moment and then remembered to shut her mouth. Well, Daniel," she said carefully. "If you are sure you want to live in the lion's den permanently, I'd be honored."

SIX MONTHS LATER

It was obvious to everyone, at least according to Nathan Burke, that Matt Dillon would not be returning to Dodge City. It had been over six months since he left in pursuit of the man Dean who had shot the gambler, Evans Vincent. No one had heard a word from him or about him. It was as though he had dropped off the earth. It was certain that he was dead.

Kitty Russell haunted the saloon like a ghost. At first, she buttonholed everyone who came in who might by chance have seen or heard from the marshal. Then, it hurt too much to ask when the answer was

always "no." She quit asking and after a time, put out the word that the Long Branch was for sale. Dodge City was unbearable without him and her friends were no longer of help.

Doc Adams spent money like water on telegrams and had even systematized his search with the help of the map in the marshal's office. Finally, he had to give up as well. There was no where else to look.

When it became apparent that Dillon was gone, a new marshal was sent for and a deputy also arrived. Festus was relieved; he was spending more and more time away from Dodge, searching for the missing marshal. He had sworn to find him, no matter how long it took. The days stretched into

weeks and the weeks into months and the months into a year and then another and then another.

FIVE YEARS LATER

Leaning on the fence post he'd just placed, Daniel looked down over the ranch house and barn with satisfaction and pride. Hard work and the wish book had repaired the years of neglect. The corrals they'd built held prime horses that had helped finance improvements including another room on the house and a better well. There was even enough money to have another hand help with the horses. Esteban worked miracles with the animals and between them, they were able to relieve Mike of the more dangerous aspects of horse ranching.

It was also peaceful. Hastydon Starcourt, in the next valley, had died, some said of shock, after his loss in the race for territorial governor. After finding out that Mike Yardner was no longer alone, he had given up his efforts to run her out. Starcourt, the biggest landowner in that part of the territory had the support of important people but he'd rubbed too many of the little ones the wrong way to get the needed

votes. His place stood empty, tied up in banker's fees and liens. Neither the stagecoach line nor the railroad had come to fulfill his vision of power.

Daniel had adjusted to life in the lion's den with enthusiasm and Mike, too, had learned like being looked after if he wasn't too obvious about it. They had produced a daughter, Elizabeth, who toddled after which ever parent was handy and who especially liked to ride on her father's knee at night before the fire. Dangling her on his knee at night reinforced Daniel's belief that he had done the right thing; to let the past go and get on with life.

Dodge City continued to boom with trailherds although the end was near. The railroad continued to push further and further west so that ranchers didn't have to drive their herds so far to get them to market. The railroads also brought farmers and fences which hastened the end of the long drive. The Texas longhorns brought tick fever with them which was fatal to their tamer cousins. Fences closed trails and men died to keep them closed. Bad winters also hinted that the days of the open range were coming to an end. To survive, Dodge City would have to find another way to prosper.

Front Street didn't look the same. Reluctantly, Kitty Russell abandoned the role of Penelope and had agreed to an offer to buy her saloon. She had acted on a long-ago plan of living in San Francisco. The old Long Branch had burned down and the new one reflected more of an eastern, big-city look than that of the frontier.

Doc Adams, upset over losing a young patient, had returned east to study medicine and had decided that he was too old to practice frontier medicine any longer. His "family" was no longer there. Matt was most certainly dead. Kitty had moved on. Festus was always on the trail, a wild goose chase in Adams' eyes, looking for some trace of the lost lawman. He stayed in Baltimore and started a practice there and never talked of returning to Dodge. His replacement, John Chapman, occupied his old office for a short time and then decided that it would be far more convenient for both patients and doctors to have an office on the first floor of some other building down the street. The old office stood empty.

Festus Haggin stubbornly refused to just give up on his friend. Every few months, he would show up in Dodge, trail-worn and exhausted, to see if any news had been received based on the cards he carried. His inability to read had been overcome with the aid of Newly O'Brien. They had printed up some cards with descriptions of both Dillon and Dean. Any information was to be sent to O'Brien in Dodge. The hill man scoured every canyon and gulch in all directions, questioned homesteaders and passers-by, and went through each town and fort. Ranging further and further afield with each trip, months would pass before he would return to Dodge City. He picked up work, here and there, to keep himself and Ruth in grub and to have wires sent to Newly. He didn't send news to Doc or Kitty. He didn't blame them for giving up. They weren't Haggins.

Then, on a wide circle to the southwest, Festus got a nibble. He'd passed the Starcourt place earlier in the day and had stumbled into a small but lively town towards dark. At the livery, he had asked the same questions…some time back, a big man, dark hair, light eyes, ridin' a buckskin - a U.S. marshal? No, can't say that we remember. How 'bout another feller, smaller, hooked nose, black eyes and hair, ridin' a slick black gelding and totin' a Sharps rifle with a tri-pod? Hmmmmm

And after some pondering, why, sure, we remember him…slipped out of town without payin' his bill…some other feller said that Starcourt hired his gun. We remember that rifle…

Encouraged, Festus prodded their memories some more and found that Starcourt was dead but that the Judge might know something. They directed him to the house where he could find the Judge but advised him to wait until morning to ask any more questions. Tired as he was, Festus spent a restless night.

The next morning found him at the house of Judge Roy Cordelius. The judge listened patiently while Festus explained things with as little embellishment as possible. This was too important to get lost in hill-speak.

"I admire your loyalty, friend," said Cordelius, slowly shaking his head over the tale of the man's persistence. "Mr. Starcourt did hire your man Dean. He never told me, but knowing how Hasty wanted the next valley, I'm sure he planned harm to its rightful owner, a woman named Mike Yardner. I guess the deal didn't work out. Mike is still there; she even found a man to put up with her temper…You know, come to think about it, he kind of fits your other description. Daniel is no lawman - never even seen him wear a gun - he had some kind of accident - lost his memory or something, near as I can remember…" the judge laughed at his own faulty memory.

"He and Mike were married, oh, about five years ago, more or less,….got themselves a nice horse ranch and a little girl. Fine fellow, he is. He'd have to have the patience of a saint to put up with that woman's headstrong ways. Her first husband died and she fought and scratched to keep that place going for a couple of years by herself. She's mellowed some since he came around."

Festus felt his eyes widen as the judge told his story. "Whar kin I find this ranch, Judge?"

The judge eyed him critically. "Why?"

Festus snorted and gave the judge a look that plainly spoke of doubting his sanity. "'Cause I bin huntin' all over creation fer'im, that's why."

"What are you going to say to him?"

Festus did not believe his ears. "I'm a-gonna tell him who I am and who he is-"

"Who is he?"

"Waal, he just might be Matthew Dillon, You-nited States Marshal -"

"Not any more. He hasn't been for five years."

Festus stared at the judge as his words soaked in.

"What if you go ridin' in there, find that he's not - Daniel has been content to let his past go. He found a level of happiness he didn't want to give up. Do you think you ought to go plantin' seeds that maybe he should go find out who he was after all?

"Listen. Tomorrow's Saturday. They usually come into town - look the situation over from a distance - then make your decision."

Festus was silent for a long moment. He slowly shook his head. "I got to do me some thinkin'…"

Saturday was a busy day. Buggies and wagons from all around crowded the streets. Festus had found himself a perch on an outside staircase across from the general store to keep watch. He carefully studied each wagon since he did not know if "Daniel" would come alone or with the woman and child. It had also been five years. Who knew how his friend had changed? One thing for sure, he wouldn't have gotten any shorter.

As the morning sun grew warmer, Festus found himself fighting sleep. He nearly leaped to his feet at the sound of a familiar voice. He'd know that "Hold it" anywhere. It was Matt Dillon. He was alive. Scanning the street, he finally saw him standing beside a wagon reaching up for a young child.

"Hold it" he order in mock sterness. "Beth, you wait for your mother. I'll help her down and then get you. Sit down on the seat, young lady." Obediently, the small, fair-haired girl resumed her seat but she was far from still.

Festus watched in fascination as the man handed down a handsome auburn-haired woman. His attempt to hold her in the air for an instance was ended by a stern look that said for him to put her down and stop all this foolishness in public. He obeyed sheepishly and gave her a large grin. Was this smiling man who was so carefully extricating a little girl from a wagon seat Matt Dillon? Festus had never seen him so relaxed, so care-free, so, he gulped to himself, so happy. Losing that badge took ten years off of him, Festus thought to himself. Maybe more. He even looked taller.

He spent the rest of the morning and into early afternoon watching from a distance and the more he watched, the more confused he got. It was Matt Dillon, in the flesh but it wasn't the Matt Dillon he or anyone else knew. After watching the wagon head out of town, Festus returned to the judge's house.

The housekeeper ushered him into a parlor and there he waited for the Judge to finish his supper.

He took a seat and stared into the fire that had been started to ward off the night's chill. "Did you find your man, Mr. Haggin?" asked the judge in a kindly voice. It was obvious from the man's posture that he had.

Festus continued to stare into the fire. "Yes and no, Judge." he said slowly. "I reckon you were right on that score."

"What are you going to do?"

Festus sat silently for a long minute. "I reckon I'd be obliged, Judge, iffen you wuz to tell me how to get to that ranch. I don't rightly know what I'm gonna do right now."

Cordelius studied him carefully and saw that if he didn't tell him, someone else would. It was a positive sign that Haggin had not followed the wagon out of town himself. "You passed the old Starcourt place on your way in, right? Ride straight out the front gate - cross three ridges. At the top of the third, you'll see the ranch."

Festus nodded his thanks and took the judge's offered hand. The judge escorted him to the door. "I have a feeling you'll do the right thing, Mr. Haggin."

Festus had his doubts.

He arrived at the Starcourt place just after sunrise and headed out the front gate as directed. He let Ruth set his own pace; he himself was in no hurry. That "right thing" the Judge had talked about was no clearer this morning that it had been all last night as he lay awake thinking about it. Did it really matter any more? Miss Kitty was gone; she had made her peace with the fact that Dillon was not coming back. What about Doc? What about the wife and child who now depended on a man they knew as Daniel? And what about Matthew? He finally had a life that the badge had denied him for so many years. Life had a funny way of working things out.

He was startled from his reverie by Ruth who snorted and danced sideways to avoid what looked to be a skeleton or at least, part of one. Bleached by the sun and wind, the long bones stuck through holes torn in what used to be pants and a coat. Festus dismounted and knelt beside the earthly remains of some poor soul. He carefully pried back the remains of the jacket and found a small leather pouch. Inside were a great many silver double-eagles and a U.S. Marshal's badge. He sat back on his heels to think again.

Finding the badge was no help. He knew in his heart that it was Dillon's badge just as he knew the dead man was Lester Dean. He climbed back on Ruth and continued up the ridge. At the top, he pulled the mule to a stop. There below in the valley was the ranch. A snug house with a barn and corrals lay nestled fairly close to a sizeable creek. Smoke drifted from a chimney. Horses dotted the corrals.

Festus sat for a long time, studying the scene before him and all the while, absently running his finger over the engraved letters on the badge. He could turn Ruth around and with the badge and skeleton as evidence, declare Matt Dillon officially dead. He could ride down in the valley and kill the life and happiness of a man he loved like a brother.

Festus Haggin tucked the badge into a safe pocket and kicked Ruth into a trot.


End file.
